


Pigtails

by coveredbyroses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Hair-pulling, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:10:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: A boring day at the bunker leads you to do your hair in pigtails. Dean kind of likes it.





	Pigtails

You tilt your head, giving yourself one last look in your bedroom mirror.

Pigtails. Shit, you haven’t worn your hair in pigtails since you were at least eight years old…

But it’s been a long, eventless day at the bunker and you’re bored. Besides, you think, if Harley Quinn can pull it off, so can you. You bring a thumb and index finger up to your forehead to tame a wayward strand before turning on your heels toward the door.

*****

Dean’s hunched over the library table, forearms braced against the wooden surface, head ducked into the soft glow of the laptop screen.

“Hey,” you greet as you plop yourself into the chair opposite him, opening up your own computer.

“Hey…” Dean echoes, drawing out the word as he peers at you from over the tops of the electronic devices. His eyebrows furrow as he sweeps his eyes over you.

“New look?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you chirp, “bouncing the twin ponytails with your palms, “you like?”

“Um…it’s…interesting?” he tries.

You roll your eyes, bright smile drooping into an irritated frown, “Shut up dude, I was bored.” You stretch your neck forward in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his computer screen. “So what are you doing?”

“Case hunting,” he says, “M’startin’ to suffocate in here.”

“Mmm,” you grunt, “find anything?”

“Not yet,” he answers, fingers punching at the keyboard.

You shrug, directing your eyes back at your screen; you’ve been digitizing John Winchester’s journal for the guys. A quick swipe of a cellphone would be much more efficient on a hunt than flipping through tattered old pages.

During the next several, wordless minutes, you notice Dean’s eyes repeatedly flicking over to you. “Okay. What?” you bite.

“Hmm? Oh, nothin’,” Dean says, pressing his full lips into a thin line in a poor attempt to mask the smirk trying to blossom across his face.

“Kay, y’know what?” Your hands fly to the bands securing your hair, fingers working release the pigtails—

“No, no!” Dean blurts, raising an open hand to stop you. “No, I uh, I kinda like ‘em,” he admits.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He clears his throat, “You know the other term for those right?” he asks.

Your brows bunch as you shake your head.

He huffs a breathy laugh, “Handlebars.”

You blink at him as your mind tries to process—

“Jesus, Dean.” You narrow your eyes, “I mean, really? Perv.”

“I’m just sayin’,” the hunter sniggers, “handlebars are convenient when you’re riding—”

“Again— _perv_ ,” you glare, but your body disagrees, a surge of heat ziplining straight to your core. You tightly cross your legs in an attempt to contain your sudden arousal.

Dean quietly closes his laptop, pushes back in his chair, wooden legs scraping across the floor. Your eyes nervously follow him as he rounds the table to your rear, bulky thighs pushing against the hard back of your chair.

“What—” You interrupt your own question with a  _squeal_  as your hair is suddenly caught and  _tugged_ outward, pain blooming across your scalp.

“Ow—what the  _fuck_ , Dean?” you screech as he  _lifts_  you upward by the hair. You use your legs to push yourself up, trying to alleviate the pain. Your thighs press painfully against the sharp edge of the long table, caught between it and the chair. He sends your previous seat clattering to the floor as he kicks it away, then crowds into you from behind, hard lump mashing into your lower back.

Your cunt is already pulsing as Dean uses the weight of his body to bend you over the table, big hands still fisting your pigtails. Your hip shoves your neglected computer to the side as you descend, palms smacking against smooth wood.

Warm lips brush at your ear, solid chest pressed against your back, “Sam’s still at the store,” he rasps, “gonna be gone for a good while…”

“Yeah?” you gasp, breath fanning across the polished surface.

“Yeah…” he breathes.

_Fuck._

*****

You’re on your hands and knees, eyes are glued to Dean’s headboard, finger’s curling into the messy sheets as a weight dips into the mattress behind you.

Dean had been good and ready to take you right there, over the old library table, but you’d managed to convince to move the party to his bedroom. You didn’t want to scar Sam for life in case he came home early.

You shiver when a hand snakes around your waist, slipping down to work your jeans open, thick fingers delving underneath your panties to boldly swipe over your drenched folds.

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, “this just from having your hair pulled?” Heat floods your cheeks at that. You’ve never played with hair pulling before, didn’t even  _know_  it was kink for you.

Until just a few minutes ago.

“Hmm?” Dean prods at your silence, free hand suddenly thwacking against your ass.

“Shit,” you breathe, “yeah— _yesss_.”

“Been a while since I’ve given you a good,  _hard_  dicking,” he muses. “You ready for that?”

“Oh fuck,” you whimper, your cunt clenching hard at the crudeness of his words, “yes,  _god_ yes.”

It’s not that Dean is boring in bed—fuck, he’s great, it’s just that you usually reserve rough sex as a stress reliever after a particularly difficult case. And it’s been a hot minute since you’ve been on a case. Period.

Dean pulls his slick hand from your panties, reaching up to drag the underside of his wet fingers across your mouth, smearing your glistening arousal over your lips. Your tongue darts out to lick the tangy taste away.

You shiver when the hunter tucks his fingers into the waistband of your jeans, peeling them down to settle around your slightly spread thighs. He gives your ass a firm squeeze, scrunching the sheer material of your panties in his warm palms.

You squeak out a yelp when he cracks his hand against your ass again, the sting much more prominent now that you’ve lost the protected layer of denim.

The soaked crotch of your panties clings to your slick folds for a moment as he tugs them down, and you twitch a little as cool air assaults your exposed cunt.

Fresh heat settles over you at the unmistakeable sound of a belt being unfastened, and you can hear the long drag of leather against denim—

Shit. Is he—

_THWACK_

You cry out when the doubled strip of leather strikes against the globe of your ass, the pleasurable pain coaxing another wave of slick to burgeon from your opening.

And then you feel the hefty weight of his cock dropping hot against the crease of your ass. You rock back against him, almost embarassingly desperate to have him inside you.

Dean leans down, sets his weight against your back, bracing one hand next to yours on the blanket, fitting the other up and under your chin.

“Aren’t we needy?” he hisses directly into your ear. He’s gone before you can answer, and then, shit—then he’s slapping the curve of your ass with his cock. He gives you at least three thumps and shifts, sweeping the broad, wet head down your crease until it nudges at your entrance.

Your jaw goes slack as he pushes the first couple of inches in—and then stills.

“Dean?” You twist your head, try to look behind you—

He leans in, slipping another inch inside as he fits a palm against your cheek, shoving your head back forward.

And then you feel the stinging pull at the sides of your scalp as he suddenly  _seizes_  you by the pigtails, arching your neck back while simulatenously thrusting his  _entire_  length into you—

 _“Oh my goddd!”_ You cry at the burning fill. Your thighs tense as he starts to move, the pain at your head increasing as he tightens his grip, but the gut-clenching drag of his thick cock pumping in and out of you is rapidly morphing that pain to pleasure.

Powerful thighs smack into the backs of yours with every forceful drive of his hips, and you want so  _badly_  to just drop to your face, to lay there and take everything he gives, but  you can barely even  _breathe_  with the steely grip in your hair, let alone move.

Your back is arched almost painfully, face tilted toward the ceiling, and your fingers are curled into the bed clothes so tightly, you’re knuckles feel like they might split.

Dean grunts deep as he roughly fucks into you, the speed of this thrusts increasing with every passing second.

Sweat is already beginning to dampen the back of your t-shirt and band of your bra as you feel your orgasm begin to build deep in your belly, molten lava swirling and burning low. Wetness gathers at your lower lashline and you’re not sure if it’s from the prickling pain or the pleasure.

“Didn’t think you’d end up like this today, huh?” Dean pants, “Sweet little girl thought she’d just play with a new hairstyle.” He huffs a breathless chuckle, “Didn’t know you’d end up on my bed, gettin’ fucked stupid.”

Fuck, your entire  _body_  clenches at that.

“Maybe you’ll think about that next time you try somethin’ cute.”

Dean stills then, releasing you, and this time you  _do_ let yourself drop; chest and cheek thudding into the wrinkled blankets, arms stretched limply above you, crooked at the elbows. He falls to his fists, curled fingers pressing shallow canyons into the mattress as he begins to pump his hips again, picking up a  _furious_  pace.

 _“Fuuuck!”_  you screech, biting at the sheets to muffle your cries. The wrecked noises spilling from your lips only seem to spur Dean on; he drops to his elbows, gathers both of your ponytails in one massive hand,  _jerking_  back until your neck is bared. He dips his head down until full lips tickle at your ear,

“Just  _look_  at you,” he pant-growls, “need ta come?”

“Yesshh!” you whine, muffled into the blankets.

“Then fuckin’ come, I never told ya you couldn’t.”

You want to let go so  _bad_ —you’re right there—but you need something, just a little—

And then Dean’s hand leaves your hair to snake around your hips, fingers swiping over your swollen clit once, twice—

And then you’re  _wailing_ into the sheets, body jerking in a rhythm of its own, muscles locking into place as you fall off the edge.

Three more pumps and then Dean releases a visceral  _roar_  as he spurts hot and thick into your spasming cunt. He quickly slicks out, strong hands grabbing at your bare hips as he flips you to your back.

You whimper when he shoves a hand between your legs, scooping up milky wet into three fingers. “Open,” he rasps, kneeing up your side to swing a heavy leg over your boneless waist.

You obediently drop your jaw, allowing Dean to slip his spooned fingers into your mouth, smearing your mixed spendings over your tongue, choking a little when his fingertips jab at the back of your throat. He groans when you seal your lips around his digits as he pulls them back, wickedly gazing up at him from underneath heavy eyelids as you suck his come-coated fingers clean.

“Damn,” he pants, flopping down on the bed next to you.

“Yeah,” you agree, wiping at your mouth with the back of your hand as you swallow.

Dean turns his head, slow grin spreading across his face as sparkling green eyes dance over your features.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, flicking an index finger toward your head, “I just, uh, I think I may have messed up your hair a little bit.”

You don’t need a mirror to know what he’s talking about. The band holding your right pigtail is hanging loose, halfway down the length of your hair, and the other side isn’t faring much better. You pull them out of your tangled locks before bringing a hand up to smooth away the freed strands sticking to your sweaty forehead.

“Yeah, well,” you grin, rolling off the bed to tug your jeans back up over your hips.

“That was worth it.”


End file.
